


sky that should have burned

by turnpikedarling



Series: when i eat you up [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom Allison, Dom Stiles, Dom/sub, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, POV Allison, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sub Derek, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnpikedarling/pseuds/turnpikedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the first time they've done this, the three of them: Stiles and Derek naked on the bed they share, Stiles raised up on his knees and Derek splayed out below him, diligently not touching any of the skin it would be so easy to get his hands on - Allison sitting in the armchair across the room, lazily flipping through a magazine she picked up at the dentist’s office earlier that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sky that should have burned

**Author's Note:**

> ha ha ha this verse is going to be the death of me. it has taken me so long to write this because i keep getting so overwhelmed. thanks a _lot_ [reinventweather](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theadmiral/pseuds/reinventweather). also, there's going to be a companion piece to this from stiles' point of view that explores the stiles/derek relationship much more fully, how they got to this point, how allison comes into the relationship (that's what the tagged series is/will be).
> 
> this is mostly just porn, though. okay, fine, _with kind of a lot of feelings._
> 
> also, for the record: the Dom/sub tags are more about their relationship dynamics in this one rather than an explicit reference to kink. that's for another story.
> 
> unbetad. let me know if you find anything! title from the angus and julia stone song "and the boys." [come say hi on tumblr](http://www.mickeyed.tumblr.com)!

  
  
This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, the three of them: Stiles and Derek naked on the bed they share, Stiles raised up on his knees and Derek splayed out below him, diligently not touching any of the skin it would be so easy to get his hands on - Allison sitting in the armchair across the room, lazily flipping through a magazine she picked up at the dentist’s office earlier that day. 

She reads celebrity gossip and ignores the fact that she can hear how heavily Derek is breathing, the soft abandon in it, trying desperately not to make a sound; she ignores the fact that Stiles is waiting patiently, the control still in his hands, and she reads about how much weight some recently pregnant celebrity has lost.

She’s not there to touch. Not this time. Sometimes Stiles lets her get inside of Derek, curl her fingers up into that warmth and break him open like some soft fruit fallen on the side of the road, overripe and broken flesh in need of tearing. Sometimes Allison and Stiles sit around and idly chat about what they’re going to do to Derek next time he’s got his hands tied behind his back, and they watch with fond, amused smiles as he tries not to listen from across the room. More often than not she’s there to tell Derek what to do, and today’s no different.

Allison keeps flipping through the magazine, stopping every so often to look up at the portrait in front of her, gauge how badly Derek needs. Needs anything, really - to be told to do anything at all. 

He’s lying perfectly still, staring up at Stiles’ body, his soft stomach, his taut hips, his half-hard dick. 

Allison tilts her head to the side and decides, finally. “Touch him.”

Derek doesn’t make a move.

"Good," Allison says, watching him wait for further instruction. "Kiss him," she adds. "His mouth," is almost an afterthought, but she’s more careful than that. She has him do exactly what she wants from him and never anything else. Never anything without purpose.

She watches Stiles wait there patiently, the real master behind this show. Everything they do is his design, but sometimes he lets her have this: this feign of power, this small conceit. Allison waits with a finger on the corner of a glossy page as Derek rises to his knees and leans in slowly, making sure to keep his hands away from Stiles’ body. She didn’t say that he could touch, and she’s proud of him for knowing that what isn’t said is almost as important as what is.

She sees Derek open his mouth, just slightly, a small little gasp when he’s finally allowed the touch he’s been waiting for. 

"Harder," Allison murmurs, and she hums a pleased noise to herself when Derek complies. A firm kiss, a purposeful one, parting Stiles’ lips and tangling the two of them together, finally, a heat she can feel through the heavy air.

"Good boy," she tells Derek when he pulls away. He smiles, small and private, and she flips the page and begins to wait again.

Later, Allison sits on the couch in their living room and listens to them fuck without her there. They leave the door propped open so she can hear every exhale, every whine, every time Stiles’ hips snap in over and over again. Their skin smacking together like pistons, a beautifully oiled machine. Allison lets her skirt ride up so she can feel the sofa on the small of her back, on her stomach when she rolls over and shoves her hand into her tights. She gets off so hard and fast that she feels like maybe she shouldn’t have, but Stiles gave her that: that she’s allowed, that it’s okay to use them the way that they use her sometimes. She’s a part of them, their bodies, and when she comes with two fingers inside herself and dripping wet into the fabric of the couch, she lets them be a part of hers too.

///

“I heard you,” Stiles says casually, fitting his coffee mug into the space where the pot usually goes. He’s too impatient to wait for the pot to fill, so he switches them out quickly. Only a few drops sizzle onto the hot plate. “Last night,” he clarifies.

Allison nods. They’re in the kitchen of the apartment that Stiles and Derek share, blinking in the early morning light. She’s nursing an espresso she ran down to the corner for and Stiles is making waffles, tossing them onto a plate in front of her one by one as they’re finished. She’s wearing one of Derek’s shirts, oversized and falling off of her shoulder, and Stiles is stripped down to his boxers. It’s fall. They’re both wearing thick socks and curling in on themselves.

Allison picks up a waffle from the plate, ignoring Stiles’ protests that they all eat together, and folds it in half, takes a bite.

“Sorry,” she offers when she’s done chewing. She’s not, really. “I can try to be quieter, if you want, or I can just stop altogether.” She shrugs and looks over her shoulder to where Stiles is pouring some more batter into the waffle maker. “But I think I stained your couch.”

Stiles actually snorts, ungraceful, and shoots her a smirk with the biggest gleam in his eye. “I’ll just flip the cushion,” he says, and then goes thoughtful for a minute. “Or maybe just leave it there as a reminder.”

Allison grins and shoves the rest of the waffle in her mouth.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Stiles adds, lifting the waffle iron too soon. It’s still goopy and sticky, and he swears at it, unplugging the machine before all the batter can burn.

“You should let it cool before you clean it,” Allison tells him, picking her legs up and folding them onto the chair with her.

Stiles gives up, turns and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “I think you should join us,” he says, and Allison’s hand stops halfway to another waffle.

She’s quiet for a minute, trying to decipher the tone in Stiles’ voice. There’s never any tone, but she looks for some anyway - he’s matter of fact about these things, what he wants and how he speaks for Derek. 

“Did you ask Derek?” Allison asks.

On cue, a sleepy, barefoot Derek pads into the room. He walks up to Stiles and presses a kiss to his temple, reaches for a mug and fills it to the brim. No one says anything when he slides into the space next to Allison and catches her lips with his, soft and bright and warm against her mouth, still sticky with the syrup she’d licked clean from her fingers.

They do all their talking here, over meals, where Derek’s only job is to eat however Allison dictates. That’s the arrangement Stiles laid out: the morning after is free, no obligations save for that. Derek can use his body however he wants. He can touch who he wants when he wants, but Allison will tell him whether to cut his bagel into thirds or halves, and he’ll tell them how he wants to be used that day. This is their safe space, the three of them, where they decide who they want to be. Where they decide what they need from each other.

Stiles looks at Derek, silently prompting him to answer Allison himself, but Derek’s ears go bright red and he shoves a waffle in his mouth instead.

Stiles sighs. “Derek wants to watch you get yourself off while I fuck him,” Stiles tells her, and Allison takes it in stride. She reaches across the table and tangles her fingers in Derek’s, squeezes them softly when they land.

“I think I can live with that,” she jokes, and the smile on her face is bigger than it’s been in awhile.

///

They do it in the afternoon.

Derek told them a few months ago that he likes to try new things in the daylight. He feels safer there, and Allison can understand why: her life in the dark is crossbows and knives, his is torn flesh and the pull of the moon. Stiles’ life in the dark is watching the people he loves get ripped apart, so they move the armchair in front of the window and she basks in the warmth of the early afternoon light. 

Allison takes off her bra but leaves her underwear on, slips her fingers beneath the silky fabric and touches herself lazily as Stiles opens Derek up. She traces her fingers over herself and lets her eyes flutter closed when she skates over her clit; when she opens them, Derek is staring at her, head bowed, breath coming short and harsh in between her legs. 

They didn’t bother with the bed, so they’re on the floor in front of her. Derek didn’t want to be that far away. His head is between her thighs and she can feel it knock into her knees every time Stiles thrusts him forward, rocking him in a sweet balance he needs. Stiles has three fingers in Derek’s ass, playing rough with only a little bit of lube sliding over his hand as it pushes in and out, and Allison can see every time Stiles glances over that sweet spot inside of Derek - Derek’s eyes keep closing, he keeps keening forward. He keeps dropping his chin and jutting it forward, bracing himself in the space between them. She strips her underwear off so he can see her better.

“You ready?” Stiles whispers, and Allison can hear Derek exhale hard. She looks down and meets his eyes and he nods, and she murmurs, “Good boy,” to him as Stiles pulls his fingers out, the slick sound of skin on skin loud in the room, the quiet still of Derek’s voice an absence they’re all aware of.

Allison’s still lazy, the way they talked about: she wants to come right before Derek does, wants to be the reason his vision goes black and hazy, wants to be the cause of all that heat. So she draws her fingertips up and down, circling lazy around her clit as she plays with herself.

Stiles smirks down at her as he lines up behind Derek, strips his cock a few times until it looks like it’s so hard it has to hurt. 

When Stiles pushes in, bottoms out, Allison brings her hand up to her mouth and sucks hard, tasting herself as Stiles bucks forward and Derek goes with him. She slicks up her fingers and drops them down again, an easier go of it this time, but she’s already so wet that fucking herself is noisy in the silence.

She fucks herself onto her fingers slowly, pushing in and out with every thrust, watching Derek watch her like he never wants to do anything else. He looks panicked like this, his furrowed brow and his open eyes and the way he’s desperately trying not to scream. He looks like all of his willpower is going toward not leaning forward the extra few inches, getting his tongue on her, fucking his face against her cunt and tasting her hard against his mouth.

Allison sinks down further, gasps soft in the sunshine and buries herself to her knuckles. She feels like she’s riding some current, some growing fire, an unrelenting flame.

“You’re so pretty,” Stiles says, and it takes a minute for Allison to realize he’s talking to her. It’s off-script, the way he meets her eyes when her fingers are sunk into her, candid in a way it never is. “You’re so pretty, Allison,” Stiles says again, bottoming out inside Derek again, thighs hitting Derek’s ass hard and leaving it red and open.

“I’m gonna come,” she breathes, and she fucks her clit hard. The pressure, pushing down, she’s so fucking wet she’s going to come. Allison’s not used to this - no one’s ever watched her before, and now Derek is looking at her like she something precious and dangerous and Stiles looks so proud, and she feels so in control of these men, these pieces of her. She feels beautiful, falling apart in front of them.

Stiles hooks a finger into Derek’s mouth, bends forward and kisses behind his ear. “Do you want to see her come?” he asks, and Allison already knows the answer.

She doesn’t need permission. She’s wrecked, she’s red all over. She just cries out into the room as she clenches down, lets the heat in her belly burst through her, lets it take hold of her limbs and just shake out of her, the rippling pleasure in the warmth of the sun something she never knew she wanted until she had it.

“Derek,” she calls as she’s coming down. When she looks up, opens her eyes to the sight of him, he’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, he’s ready to be blown apart.

“Come for me,” she says, and Derek does. Allison watches him pitch forward, his nose bumping against the inside of her thigh, and his mouth circles into a silent shape of surprise. She puts her hand under his chin and keeps it still, forces his head up to her, lets him have that touch. “Keep coming,” she murmurs, and he rides out the aftershocks with his eyes on hers.

When they’re done, when Stiles is sated and sweating and they’re a pile of naked limbs on the floor, Allison throws her arms out around them. From where she’s laying, she can turn her head and kiss either of them if she reaches, the smallest little effort to keep them in her hands. Her boys, here with her at the edge of something new.

///

“You’ve never talked to me before,” Allison says, biting into an apple as she stands in front of the open refrigerator, trying to decide what to make for dinner.

“Derek asked me to,” Stiles tells her, peeking over the door. “There’s fresh tomatoes if you want to make that sauce again,” he adds.

Allison tuts. “You could have told me,” she says, and Stiles looks up at her, the door between them still.

“Are you okay?” He looks immediately concerned.

“Yeah,” Allison softens, feels suddenly and all at once loved. "Everything’s okay, really.” She should have known how Stiles would hear it, knows how criticism plays out in this thing. Every piece of feedback is important, every action a conversation. When they’d decided that she’d stay at their place for three days instead of going home to hers, it had been a discussion - no accidentally ending up there every night, using their clothes because she doesn’t have hers. She has a packed bag stuck into the corner of the living room. She uses their clothes because they asked her to.

“It’s okay,” she says again, “It was just a surprise. You and me,” she says, “we don’t really do much, you know? We don’t even touch each other. And we talk about everything. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it,” she finishes, and Stiles looks like he understands.

“Do you want to?”

Allison studies Stiles for another minute, still toneless, still dry. She knows what he’s offering, but this: they’re here for Derek. This has always been for Derek, since the minute they brought her in right up to this particular moment, it’s the two of them for him. It’s what he wants, it’s what they both want, and it’s everything she thinks she’ll ever need.

“No,” she decides, leaning forward and pressing her mouth to Stiles’ softly, light, one of the only times she ever has.

Later, when they fuck on the kitchen floor, Allison hooks her fingers into Derek's ass and twists, pulling noise out of him, a sound, the prettiest whimper she thinks she’s ever heard, and she meets Stiles’ eyes when Derek comes between them.

She knows, then, where they all stand: their guts strewn on the open floor, their hearts in each others’ hands.


End file.
